


For Love

by melanie1982



Category: Interview With the Vampire (1994), X Files
Genre: F/M, Fiction, M/M, Ridiculousness, Second Chance, Time Travel, Voodoo, Witchcraft, vampire
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-28
Updated: 2020-08-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:29:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25804408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melanie1982/pseuds/melanie1982
Summary: Mulder finds himself in the enviable position of getting the chance to change the course of history for the better.Travelling back to 1794, Fox is determined to help Louis avoid the centuries of pain and regret which followed his receipt of the dark gift. He only has three days to accomplish his mission - or so he believes...When Mulder refuses to tell anyone at the Bureau where he's going, Dana sets out to look for him, and Mulder is faced with a choice no one, mortal or otherwise, should ever have to make.As Mulder's experiences unfold, Dana finds herself pulled into an increasingly complicated situation.Follows on from the events of "Interview with an X File"I don't own any of the X Files characters. I don't own any of the Vampire Chronicles characters. I make no money from this work of fiction.I did some light research into voodoo for this story; there are almost as many ways to practice voodoo as there are practitioners of voodoo, so I felt okay in being loose with the concept. I respect all cultures and belief systems, and the witches are not villains in this story.unfinished until I remove this note
Relationships: Fox Mulder/Dana Scully, Louis de Pointe du Lac/Fox Mulder, Louis de Pointe du Lac/Lestat de Lioncourt
Comments: 7
Kudos: 3





	1. Chapter 1

Fox had done his homework, but practice was a world away from theory.

He had long been undecided regarding the existence of alternate realities, quantum shifts, time travel and so on. It was all intriguing, but also terrifying; the idea that he could alter the course of his own life or the lives of others by manipulating the fabric of the universe was not to be taken lightly. 

Mulder had travelled to New Orleans so often since Louis' departure that it had become a running joke within the Bureau. Rumors abounded, chief of them being that Mulder had a secret family in that city, or at the least, a paramour. If only the truth were that simple, he rued.

Mambo Lafont was revered in the voodoo community. She had refused Mulder's requests for help multiple times, and he respected and trusted her more for it. Now, she had, at last, agreed to help, but on the understanding that any consequences were entirely his own. Lafont's acceptance of Mulder's money was nominal, knowing that Mawu Lissa was her judge. She was not in need of money, and that was another reason Mulder had decided to trust her.

The ritual gathering was smaller than that of a typical service, with only Mambo Lafont and five others in attendance. Mulder stripped down to his underclothes behind a screen, slipping a linen smock over his body in preparation. He noticed as he changed that he had lost weight in recent months, despite his frequent trips and indulgence in delicious, fattening foods. Even his face looked thinner, almost gaunt. Upon the screen, Mulder noticed symbols repeating over and over, almost like binary code - but instead of zeroes and ones, there were single horizontal dashes and double horizontal dashes resembling 'equal' signs. He was struck by the duality present within voodoo, the idea that any person or entity could be 'good' or 'evil,' able to change their nature at any time - so unlike the Christian belief system with which he was more familiar.

As he emerged from behind the screen, the energy in the room changed. He was really going to go through with this mad scheme, and half a dozen people were going to aid him on his journey.

The floor was marked for his arrival with more of the symbols, which Lafont had explained were a form of alphabet outlining his personal destiny, or Fa. He couldn't decipher them, but hoped they were auspicious - especially for this undertaking.

Three of the serviteurs began to clap and sing, and Mulder felt his own heart synchronizing with the rhythm. He had had misgivings about cultural appropriation, but those were largely quelled by the fact that this particular group was a mix of races and cultures, all of them putting their trust in the ways of voodoo. 

Lafont beckoned him to the center of the space, the human percussion now picking up speed. The mambo gave him an herbal concoction to imbibe, and Mulder hesitated for only a moment before drinking it. It tasted bitter, but was surprisingly smooth going down. 

Mulder wondered if it was a placebo effect, but, at any rate, he began to feel.. fuzzy, almost immediately.

Lafont guided him in the movements, Fox surrendering himself to the energy and ecstasy of it. He should've felt a fool, but then, wasn't everyone a fool for love? 

The rhythm was undeniable, tapping into some primal part of his brain, allowing it to override his higher functioning, like reasoning, and doubt. He, Fox Mulder, was taking part in a ritual to attempt time travel. He was taking a leap of faith in order to try to give his lover another chance at life. Most people associated voodoo with curses or manipulative love spells; this.. This seemed to be the antithesis of that. Rather than trying to bring Louis back into his life for good, Fox was going to try to set him free.

Dizziness, along with fatigue, began to weary him. Lafont took hold of his shoulders, easing him to the floor.

He put himself into the prone position and tried to focus on his breathing, settling his eyes on one spot on the ceiling. The room felt warmer, then unbearably hot; the foot-stomps and singing voices were at a fever pitch now, the chanting charged with strong intention. Mulder's vision began to swim and distort, until he could no longer discern one face from another. The ceiling appeared to darken, with pinpricks of light seeming to glow like stars. The herbs pulled him under, and he gave himself over to them, ready for whatever came next.

Somewhere, sounding very faint and distant, Lafont was trying to tell him something, but her voice was drowned out by the sound of water...


	2. Chapter 2

Mulder came to on, he presumed, the bank of the Mississippi. He soon found the tavern, just as Louis had described it. It was night, and the sky was clearer than any he had ever seen in his life.

Either the spell had worked, or he was in some strange afterlife. Either way, nothing would come of his inertia; whether this was temporary or permanent, Fox wanted to make the most of his time here.

He wasn't sure what he was going to say, or how to approach the man - MAN, not vampire! - in order to persuade him not to give up the light. How could he make Louis understand?

There was the card game in progress, men in eighteenth-century garb gathered around a table, a pair of whores hovering over the men with the largest piles of winnings. Mulder found Louis immediately in the dim light, watching him lay out several cards in a row with a cool detachment, not the anger and contempt Mulder had expected to see.

To his surprise and near-panic, Louis' half-drunken stupor evaporated, and a look of wondrous recognition took its place. Louis folded his remaining hand, abandoning the game, along with all of his wagers and winnings.

Mulder felt rooted to the spot, watching his lover walk towards him with a purposeful stride. 

As the two met, Louis' grip on his arm was exploratory, as if the man couldn't quite believe Mulder was solid and real. Fox felt his mouth go suddenly dry, his knees threatening to give out from beneath him at that touch.

The grip tightened, leading Fox back out into the night air. It tasted of sadness and old, weather-beaten wood. Mulder couldn't recall the last time he'd smelled air that clean, but then, it was from a time before coal and oil had choked the atmosphere..

Louis stopped halfway along the pier, still not having said a word. 

Fox wondered if he should speak first, but was afraid that if he did, he would awaken from this too-real dream.

At last, Louis opened his mouth. "How wonderful to see you, Fox, but how awful that you're here."

The man sounded almost deliberately detached, and not in the endearing, oddball, vampiric way. Fox couldn't get over how pink Louis' skin was, how fleshy his face and form were, how very alive he appeared to be - 

"Why is it awful?"

Mulder had tried to choose his words carefully, but had failed. Louis, human or vampire, made him lose his senses.

"Because this existence is my punishment, or some sort of test - I can't be sure.. Since the last time I saw you, I have become rather less.. compliant for my captors. I have been forced to relieve this pivotal week of my lifetime over and over more times than I can count. Tonight - tonight is the first time anything has changed outside of my deliberate will."

Mulder let that sink in. "They're Groundhog Day-ing you? What for?"

Louis shook his head. "I thought that's why you were here - that they'd sent you as a trick, or perhaps a punishment for your interference. Are you truly..?"

Fox allowed himself to be casually patted down, satisfying Louis' uncertainty. Well, almost.

Pulling Fox behind the boathouse, Louis hazarded a kiss. Mulder stifled a groan; it had been so, so long -

"Real enough?," Fox inquired.

Louis ducked his head into Fox's shoulder, hiding his blushes. "Oh, yes. It's you."

Remembering who he was, where they were, and, more crucially, WHEN they were, Louis quickly composed himself. It would not do to have Mulder caught in such passions; he cared little for his own fate.

"We can't stay here. This is where it begins."

Fox felt a chill ripple through him, realizing that, while his clothing was era-appropriate, it was hardly sufficient for the cool night. He had no coat, only a shirt and rudimentary trousers, thin socks, and damp shoes.

Mulder tried to recall the details of Louis' tale.

"He was watching me - watching US - in the tavern. We must leave now; I don't want the two of you to meet."

Fox bristled at the edge in Louis' voice. It was so cold, so human, and, somehow, that made it more frightening than his vampire temper had ever been.

Louis, sensing his companion's mental processes, spoke as quietly as he could. "Do not even speak his name. Try not to think of him; think of card games, or whores, or slaves toiling in the fields. He reads thoughts, Mulder."

Part of him was enthralled by the idea of meeting the one who had enabled Louis to survive for centuries, long enough to meet him in the present day. Part of him, however, was jealous beyond words - not so much of the dark gift, but of the fact that another man should be so important to Louis, so intimately acquainted with him in ways Mulder could never be.

Louis mounted his waiting horse; he rarely used the carriage for such excursions. Looking behind him, he offered a hand to Fox, helping him up. 

"You're gonna make me ride bitch?"

Mulder couldn't help himself; he had to ease the tension. The whole situation had already taken a bizarre turn, and only time would tell if that turn was to be fortuitous, or disastrous.

Louis laughed, despite himself. "Would you prefer to walk? Under the circumstances, a fast horse is an infinitely safer mode of transport."

Remembering the proximity of vamp-who-shall-not-be-named, he capitulated. It was difficult not to hold on too tightly; being this close to Louis again was making him feel drunk (or perhaps the herbal concoction influenced him somehow, even in the past). It was not unheard of for men to ride together if the need arose, but it was not exactly commonplace, either. The sooner the pair of them got away from the public gaze, the better.

\--------------------

The Pointe du Lac plantation - for there were neither any ways nor means to sugarcoat what it was - covered several acres of prime real estate. Louis had released his slaves upon his first arrival in this time loop; he had now released them too many times to count - and yet, they were always reinstated when the punishment restarted. As this was the evening of the first day of the latest time loop, the grand house was unmanned, the fields untended, the slave quarters eerily silent.

Mulder couldn't get over Louis' way of living.

"It wasn't living - not really. There was no honor in it, no particular skill; I never learned a trade, never worked my own family's land. I know hindsight is twenty twenty, Fox, but this isn't a matter of political correctness. I owned human beings. I treated them better than many others did, but I am without excuse."

Mulder wanted to say something to make it better. It made him physically ill, knowing that this grand house and all of the fine things within it were bought off the backs of enslaved people. Louis was seated in one of the expertly-crafted chairs in the parlor, while Fox, wary of touching or damaging the priceless antiques, preferred to stand. 

"You've tried to set it right; you've set them free."

Louis sighed. "Free to do what? To go where? How will they get by?"

It was obvious that this had been weighing on Louis for a long time. Mulder longed to help, but there were other pressing matters to address.

"How are you going to get out of here? You can't spend forever reliving this part of your past; you just can't."

Louis stilled, as if trying to listen to the night outside, but he didn't have preternatural hearing.

"I probably deserve it, Fox. You, on the other hand - you don't." He rose from the chair, approaching Mulder, drinking him in. Fox found himself almost wistful, wishing to see the pale skin, the unnaturally blue eyes which by turns absorbed and repelled the light, the prominent veins mapping the length and breadth of Louis' body. Then again, seeing him in his prime, his broken humanity, his bruised soul, was also achingly beautiful.

"If you get out of this thing, maybe their future will change, too."

Louis considered the ramifications.

"Is that why you're here? To stop me from turning? To ensure that I live out a natural life in this era?"

Fox nodded, wanting to mean it with all of his heart, wanting to release any claim he felt he had over this man. He didn't want to do it begrudgingly, to taint his righteous mission with his own selfishness.

They were face to face now, and Mulder could smell Louis' cologne, an attempt to conceal the aroma of his sweat in the Louisiana heat. 

He should give a grand speech, an elegant postulation on love and noble self-sacrifice, how he was prepared to give up their time together in order to prevent Louis' suffering across the centuries and his ultimate abduction by extra-terrestrials. Fox found he couldn't form the words, couldn't push them past his lips.

"I'm going to assume your arrival involved some form of magic. How long does it last, Mulder?"

"She said three days."

Louis was both disappointed and relieved. "At least you have your out," he said quietly.

Mulder shook his head. "What if I stayed? Would it really be so terrible?"

Louis refused to allow himself to entertain such thoughts. "It would never be safe for you. But enough talk for tonight; you must be hungry or thirsty, and probably very tired."

Fox tilted his head. "I am hungry, but it's bearable. I'd rather go right to bed - unless you prefer to be alone?"

Without anyone left to guard the estate, Louis knew they were in danger. He would secure the house to the best of his ability, and hope that there would be no surprise visitors between now and the dawn.

"I can't be alone tonight. It would put each of us at greater risk."

Fox's hand went to his neck reflexively, knowing how it felt to be bitten, taken, and how different it would be if the fangs penetrating him belonged to L - , uh, that vampire.

"So this is purely a security precaution? A practical arrangement?," Mulder asked, fearing rejection.

Louis, only 24, suddenly looked older. He was tired; so very tired of it all. Pulling Fox to himself, he kissed him. For every ounce of anger and helplessness he felt, Louis put forth an equal measure of gentleness. It was so tender, it was almost like kissing a ghost. Fox made a sound of complaint, pulling his lover closer, forcing open his mouth with his invading tongue. Louis found it a welcome intrusion, but pulled back, looking at his companion for a long moment.

"To bed, Fox. Tomorrow will worry about its own things."

Mulder wanted to ask about the biblical reference, but bringing up scripture, with all its contentious sexual prohibitions, seemed counterproductive to what he had in mind.

Later, as the pair of them drifted off to sleep under the warmth of the rising sun, sated and slightly sore, Mulder fully understood why an immortal would want to sire Louis as their companion. He almost felt sorry for the way he was going to help Louis cheat his maker.

Almost.


	3. Chapter 3

"Many have I killed, but few have I hated."

Louis was trying to explain to Fox, trying to make him understand - not only the many deaths he had caused during his centuries of immortality, but his recent kills while trapped in a time loop. He was seated at one end of the dining table, looking like a dejected CEO in a conference room. Mulder was seated at the opposite end of the table, resisting the urge to move closer - but resist he must, for passion must not override practicality as the two of them deciphered a way out of their predicament.

"The first night, everything went more or less as it did in my old life. I was bitten, and I .. received the blood.."

Mulder wanted to hold him, kiss away his lover's pain. Talking about the change from the other side of it, the human side, with all the hindsight of having been vampire, was obviously difficult for him.

"But when I awoke, it was not in a coffin. I found myself in my own room, and it was morning. The sun did not burn me, and I was human once more. This repeated for three days and nights, until I decided to see if I could change anything in the sequence. I've avoided the tavern; I've freed my slaves; I've booked passage to far-off lands... Always, I awake in my bed, beginning again at the same point. I can't find the tear in the fabric, a way to rip the whole thing wide open. Later, I would become vampire for a few days, and then it would all return to that first day, the original circumstances. I don't know what, if anything, will make a difference, Fox."

"There must be something you haven't tried yet."

He studied his fingers, their rosy nail beds, the dirt beneath the tips from having to perform his own labor. Human hands, yes, but capable of just as much violence as any vampire - perhaps more.

"I have killed him more times than I can remember. There is no passion in it anymore; I can barely muster annoyance at this point. Every time we meet, it's as if he has no memory of me at all. All he knows of me comes from observing me as a human, biding his time. I have killed men at the card table, whores at the dock, even my own - "

He did not want to use the word anymore. It was too shameful.

"I thought perhaps their gods or the spirits of their ancestors would let me die if I set their people free - dead or alive. It doesn't seem to make a difference. I've killed myself many times, too, by various means - as a man, and as a vampire. They keep bringing me back here."

Mulder could hear the confusion and frustration, the mental anguish of not knowing how, when, or if this nightmare would end.

"Killed yourself?"

Louis rested his head on his hands, feeling the smoothness of the table beneath his elbows as he settled. Mulder thought, not for the first time, how well his lover looked in eighteenth century dress. He chastised himself for allowing his mind to wander yet again.

"Drowning. Poisons. Impalement. The sun. Fire."

Louis shuddered, clearly retaining some semblance of the physical pain of those many deaths.

"Perhaps if I die once for each of my victims, it will be sufficient."

He raised his head once more, facing his companion. No; he must not think of him as such. Mulder was a guest, welcome, but fleeting. Nothing more.

"What did you think you could do to save me? Were you planning to kill my maker?" Louis' face was so earnest, open and trusting. 

Fox was lost, weak in the presence of such beauty. He was suddenly struck with a perverse desire to see Louis cry. Vampires rarely shed tears, he had been told, so to see Louis weep would be - 

"I had hoped to keep you hidden until I could figure out a way to get rid of him."

Louis almost laughed. "That FBI training, eh? 'Neutralize the threat.' And then, what - you'd leap home? Regurgitate the potion and slide back into the present day?"

"Something like that. I could leave then, knowing you'd be okay, knowing that the agony you've lived through would be averted. You'd be a beautiful footnote in late Colonial history, at rest with the bones of your ancestors. I thought.. I thought you'd want it that way."

Louis' finger brushed along his bottom lip, grounding his thoughts in sensation. "I don't know what I want anymore - not long-term, anyway. To undo the past... would be to lose all that I have gained, to prevent any good I might have done, however incidental. And it would mean never seeing you again, except perhaps to haunt you as a ghost, and, I must say, being near you and not having a physical form would be the worst hell I could ever imagine."

Fox blushed at the compliment, and was thrilled to see Louis able to blush, too. 

Old habits died hard; Louis realized the pair of them had been sitting at table for the better part of an hour, but of course, no one was going to bring breakfast. The lands around were quiet, save for the chatter of birds and the buzz of the midges.

He rose, offering Fox his hand. "Come on. Let's visit the kitchen and see what the rats haven't yet devoured."

\-----------------------

Lestat, in his crypt, was dreaming. Like all great predators, he dreamt mostly of the hunt, of the terrible beauty of torn flesh and spilled blood. There had always been within himself the sense of something missing, a feeling of emptiness which the dark gift had only intensified. In his dreams, he pursued the perfect prey, the one for whom he would always thirst and never be satisfied, but whose blood and death would end in rebirth. For years, this prey had had no face - until the night Lestat had spotted Louis, had fallen in love immediately with the pain, the longing, the promise of pleasures untold written upon the young man's visage. For the first time, the dream changed, the prey turning to face its captor. Yes; his ideal mate, his protege and not-quite-equal, the one for whom Lestat would risk it all.

His name was Louis, and it was this name which escaped Lestat's lips upon first waking, whispered into the crypt like a curse. 

His beauty, his wealth, his heartache - all would be Lestat's. If the man refused, he would be the greatest meal the vampire had ever enjoyed; but if he consented to be turned...

Such a companion would provide many forms of succour throughout the eons.


	4. Chapter 4

Louis had given up hope of ever escaping. He would allow himself to be the fool for two days more, and then Mulder would return to his own time, never to visit again. Louis was the Beast of fairytales, and Fox did not belong in his world. After all the suffering and death he had caused, Louis had finally found a human he was willing to risk it all to save.

Fox insisted on accompanying him every step of the way. Feeling it to be more proper and less noteworthy, Louis furnished Fox with his own horse, and the two of them went riding through the fields, seeing that the quarters were still abandoned before making a half-hearted attempt at working the land for a few hours. Mulder had shucked his shirt somewhere around noon, and Louis watched in rapture as the man bent to his task again and again, glistening with sweat, skin browning in the sun like a well-roasted chicken. There was a twisted satisfaction in their afternoon delight, which took place in a horse stall. Louis had capitulated to Fox's request to leave their animal companions in the field until the deed was done, finding great amusement in his lover's insistence that they not let their passion frighten the horses.

As night fell, they bathed together, the hot water in short supply as they were forced to fend for themselves. Mulder tried not to think of Lestat, but it was increasingly difficult not to do so after sunset. How many days would he wait for Louis to venture out at night? Would he let himself in? Was it possible he'd already forgotten Louis? 

A fantasy. No one could forget such a man, not in any land or era. As Louis proved yet again that he had been a great lover before turning, as well as after, Fox found that his mind was less and less under his own control. Images of a man with fair hair and cold blue eyes thrilled him. Louis' gentle love-bites became, in his imagination, the piercing points of death, the sting of fangs sinking into his flesh to drain him of life. Louis stopped his ministrations, gazing up at Fox with concern. 

"You still with me?" 

Mulder shook his head no. "I'm sorry. I.. I went somewhere else for a minute."

Fox withdrew, suddenly shy. Louis reached for him, offering comfort, removing all pressure.

"Scully would be better at coming up with a solution without getting emotionally involved."

It was the first time either one of them had mentioned her name since Mulder's arrival.

Louis conceded the possibility. "Perhaps - but, I rather enjoy having you be.. emotionally involved. It's selfish of me, I know, since my situation is so damnable and doomed."

He was looking at Fox, really looking at him, as if trying to read him like he used to.

Up until that point, their conversations had been nebulous. "It's the end of the first full day. I need to know, Louis - do you think you could be happy staying in this life, in this era?"

If Louis had ever doubted his capacity to love this man, those doubts were now gone. Mulder, a fool for love, was risking his all to give him the choice he'd never truly had.

If only there was a way to be sure of what he wanted, and, furthermore, to ensure that Mulder knew how much Louis appreciated his concern. Above all, Louis needed to see to it that Mulder got 'home' safely.

Perhaps the best strategy was to do nothing, and let things play out for him in whatever manner was most natural. But would Mulder be safe for another two days?

"Magic brought you here, Mulder; perhaps.. Perhaps magic could give us a nudge in the right direction."

Louis felt foolish for not having thought of it before. A visit to one of the root workers made as much sense as anything else did in his current situation, and if nothing else, perhaps there would be some protective spell for Fox. 

Mulder's head was spinning. A spell within a spell? Would that negate the potion? Would he be instantly bungeed back to his present life?

Was there any way of finding out, other than to try?

"A root worker it is," he conceded. Fox was curious to see if the practitioner would know or suspect that he was there because of magic. 

Louis had heard people discuss such things, and had an idea of where to start. A certain resident of Chartres Street had a dedicated clientele, so he resolved to seek her out first. If she could not or would not help, perhaps she could recommend someone else.

\------------

It was still within the French Quarter, but Chartres Street had an air of quiet respectability, so removed from the taverns and other businesses of the night. Louis was sure that his money would open doors, no matter how late the hour, but it still felt rude to stop by uninvited. How would they be received?

A woman of less than twenty opened the door, peering up at the pair of white men with suspicion and mild alarm. Neither man could blame her.

"It is late. What you want, blan moun?"

"Please, miss - we have come to call on Mme. Etienne." Louis discreetly palmed the bag of money he had concealed within his cloak. The woman's eyes narrowed, but then her face relaxed into a resigned expression. The last thing their neighborhood needed was two crazy rich men making trouble.

"Please come inside. Quickly."

Mulder and Louis moved into the anteroom and on to the parlor, expecting to find magical accoutrements or fetishes, something to signal what sort of space they had entered. There was nothing unusual, nothing; every aspect of decor was in keeping with the American adaptation of French style. Mulder did notice, however, a bowl of eggs situated on a table in the corner, suspiciously close to a glass of water.

"Mme. Etienne will be with you shortly. Do not touch anything."

Afraid that sitting down would constitute touching something, the men opted to stand, hands remaining idly by their sides. Movement was audible from overhead, and soon, as foretold, an older woman descended.

Mulder found that he should have taken a chance by occupying a seat, as, the moment he locked eyes with Madame, he fainted.


	5. Chapter 5

Mme. Etienne looked so much like Mambo Lafont, Mulder had collapsed with shock at the sight of her.

Mme. Etienne, curious but unconcerned, peered down at Fox where he lay. "Your friend is under strong magic," she concluded aloud.

"Yes." Louis, relieved to find Fox still breathing, helped him up. Mulder's vision was swimming, and the river was rushing within his ears; other than that, he was alright.

"Place him over there," said their hostess, pointing the way to her settee. Louis obliged, with help from a woozy Fox.

Mme. Etienne was studying the pair of them, apparently weighing various factors within her own mind before rendering a decision. Whatever she knew - or thought she knew - she ruled in their favor.

"I will try to help you both. But you must tell me the truth; if you lie, Papa Legba will play tricks on you, and that could be bad for me, too."

Mulder nodded, weakly. "I'll tell you the truth - but I don't know if you'll believe it."

She smiled, a very wise, serene gesture. "We shall see. Begin at the beginning."

Fox told her, to the best of his ability, about his trip to Lafont, his mission here, and his need to complete his task before the three days were up.

"Not much time," Mme. Etienne clucked. "You should've come straight to me. What have you been doing with yourselves all this time, eh?"

For a long moment, neither man had the nerve to look her in the eye. Vampire Louis wouldn't have faltered, but human Louis - well..

"Don't mind about it, then. I must ask you: Are you certain this is what you want? You," she said, addressing Mulder, "want to go back, and you," Etienne added, addressing Louis, "want to stay?"

Louis could only nod, a feeble lie. He told himself he was being noble, if not brave, but was he?

She took in a deep breath, then let it out. "I will put protective mojo on you for your journey, and some on your friend to keep away the evil one." Both men were relieved she had not asked for his name - though that would come later.

A price was agreed upon, and an appointment was made for the following evening; Mme. Etienne would require a full day to gather the needed materials and prepare for the ritual.

There wasn't much time. Mulder couldn't shake the feeling that there wasn't any at all.


	6. Chapter 6

Scully had found Lafont's place with some difficulty. All the initial information she'd been able to find placed the woman in a respectable zip code, working out of a shop on Chartres Street - but that information was sorely out of date.

In the thickest humidity she'd ever experienced, Scully made her way along the backwaters of the bayou, her enthusiastic guide steering the airboat. Dana hadn't told him exactly where she was going or why, but up to that point, he'd just been happy for the chance to do some business. Jean went on and on about the ecosystem, pointing out 'gators, identifying the water hyacinths which feathered along the surface, enjoying the beauty of nature all around him. Scully shuddered, imagining her partner being dragged to a watery death by some mythical water-beast. For better or for worse, that wasn't the supernatural entity he'd gone in search of..

As they rounded a bend, Dana spotted the house, just as her informant had described it. It was grand, though not as ostentatious as some of the stately homes of the old-money families of the South. Now to interrupt Jean in the middle his one-man nature documentary spiel..

"Jean, can you get us to the shore? Please?," she amended, realizing she'd forgotten herself for a moment.

His face was incredulous. "What, THERE? No, no, miss, you got no business there; that's - "

He cut himself off, his jaw closing with a snap.

"That's my stop, Jean." Scully fished another fifty from her wallet, offering it to him. "Thanks for the tour."

Jean shook his head. "It's not right. I don't know what this is about - some fella, or what - but Laf - she isn't one to trifle with."

Dana rolled up her sleeves, wishing she'd opted for casual-professional rather than full federal agent attire. "Do you want me to risk swimming to shore?"

She was removing her shoes, placing them into her briefcase, and Jean realized that Dana Scully was not one to be trifled with, either.

Without any more fuss, he steered the boat towards the shore. There was a dilapidated chunk of what used to be a private boat-slip, and it was to this that she clambered, as gracefully as possible, trying to avoid the water and hoping the rotting wood would hold her weight.

"I'll make my own way back; I don't expect you to wait on me."

Jean shook his head again, and he looked pitiably sad. "IF you make it out of there. I dunno why I put up with tourists and their crazy..."

He was mumbling to himself, and at any rate, the engine drowned out the rest. It was just as well. 

Up close, the house looked even older and more imposing that it had from offshore. Lafont must have had some very satisfied and well-heeled clientele over the years to afford such a place - and that was a best-case scenario. More likely, Dana suspected, she was a con artist, duping desperate people - mostly jilted or insecure women - out of a fortune.

Still, she needed to put on her best manners; Lafont was, to her knowledge, the last person to have any contact with Mulder in days. 

All of her childhood superstitions and adolescent horror movie tropes danced through Dana's mind as she knocked on the door. After waiting several moments, and noticing the bell, she pulled the rope, hoping that that sound would carry more efficiently than her knock; after all, it was a large home, and Lafont was getting on in years...

As the door opened, Dana knew this could only be Lafont. She was not remarkable to look upon, but there was an energy, a surge of being, which arrested the onlooker. Scully had rarely had this buzzing, tremulous sensation, and never before from a stranger. It was unsettling.

"Red head," Lafont spoke as way of acknowledgement-slash-greeting.

"Excuse me? My name is Agent Scully, I'm with the - "

"I know who you are." This was said in a detached, almost bored, tone - not at all like the gypsy fortunetellers in bad movies. "You better come in, then."

Scully entered, surprised at how light and airy the house seemed, while the sensation of pressure and energy intensified.

Lafont bade her to sit in the parlor, and Dana found herself complying, against her better judgement. Something about this place, or its owner, had taken much of the wind out of her sails.

"You're his partner. You're worried for him."

Scully tried to focus. "Are we talking about Fox Mulder? Then, yes, I am - and I am worried. Shouldn't I be?"

Lafont lit a white candle on an end table, one which emitted a cloyingly sweet smell. "Magnolias?," Scully asked.

Lafont nodded. "And the one I light next is jasmine." She did so, without further ceremony.

"Why did he come to you, and where is he now?"

Lafont's smile was sad, which was worse than it being wicked or cryptic. "He came to me many times to teach him the old ways. Your friend is a good student, but impatient at times. Once he felt he was ready, I arranged a ceremony for him. So your second question is not sufficient, not correct."

Scully had to shake her head, feeling woozy with the heat. "Please, enlighten me."

"You asked where he is. It's not where - it's WHEN."

A third candle was lit now, and Dana wondered how she'd missed that motion. Its scent was.. old, and musty, like damp wood. Why would anyone have such an odd candle?

"He wanted to go back to try to save someone important to him from making a mistake."

"Time travel? You want me to believe that you did a ritual and sent Mulder back in time?" Scully tried to stand, but found herself too weak to do so.

"His body is here and now, but his spirit is there and then. Three days; that's all I could give him. He will be back by midnight tonight."

Scully didn't believe a word of it. Somehow, she found the energy to get up, facing the woman. "Take me to him. Please. I'm a doctor; whatever - whatever's happened to him, I may be able to help him."

Lafont shrugged, as if it didn't matter to her either way, and led Scully by the elbow into the main room of the house.

The scent of flowers was overpowering there, vases and hand-tied bouquets adorning the room everywhere you looked. At the center of it all, Mulder lay as if in state. Dana was relieved to see his chest rise and fall, and that his color looked good.

Dana heard her hostess begin to make an unearthly noise, turning her attention away from her partner.

"Mme. Lafont?"

Her medical training was kicking in; the woman was clearly having some sort of episode - a seizure, perhaps, or a stroke; a cardiac event - 

"Lafont??"

The woman was on the floor, and Dana checked her airways, finding them clear. Her pulse was rapid, but her breathing was alarmingly slow.

"Do you take medication? Do you have a condition?"

Lafont shook her head no, lolling on the floor. "Don't.."

Dana leaned in, straining to hear.

"Don't.. don't touch him. Don't touch - "

At that, Lafont let out a hideously final death rattle, and Scully, despite all of her training and first-hand experience with the dying, pulled back, horrified.

As soon as the woman had stilled, Mulder's shaking began, threatening to make Dana unravel completely. He was already on the floor, so it was easy enough to move from the one she couldn't help, to the one she most needed to save.

"Mulder? Mulder! Muld - "

The moment her hands made contact with Fox's face, Dana knew she had made, perhaps, the biggest mistake of her life.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter runs simultaneous with Dana confronting Lafont.

The ceremony was to begin two hours before midnight, in order to ensure its conclusion within the time allowed.

The hours of darkness leading up to that, however, were for the lovers.

This would be the encounter to sustain Louis throughout the rest of his mortal existence, however long that might be. Memories of this passion would be all that was left. By the time Fox Mulder was born, Louis would be nothing more than dust.

"You know I love you, right?"

Mulder sounded so tentative, so unsure. 

Louis placed a kiss on each of Fox's fingertips before pressing his lips into the palm. "Yes, Fox. And I love you."

Human Louis was not quite as .. romantic and old-fashioned as his vampire self. Nevertheless, Fox knew he would not find the man's equal, even if he had eternity to search for it.

The room was warm, being one of the smaller rooms in the house. The fire was crackling nicely, and passions were rising along with the heat. "Time.."

Louis had only to say that one four-letter word to bring Fox back to the task at hand. Mulder wanted to slow down and savor this last interlude, to prolong it as much as possible.

It was the scent of him which drove Louis to madness. Fox was still in his prime, healthy and vibrant. It was selfish on his part, but Louis was relieved that he would not have to see his love grow old or succumb to illness or mishaps.

He had forgotten how it could be between two human lovers. Although Louis had never taken a male companion before becoming a vampire, and the mechanics were certainly different, it was still the most intimate act any two people could share. Bruises did not fade in a blink; bite and scratch marks lasted hours or days, rather than mere moments. The heat of his breath on Fox's skin was something he'd never before been able to give, and he wondered how much Fox would remember, which parts of the past three days would be emblazoned upon his mind for the rest of his life.

Some believed in reincarnation, and, while the thought of finding Mulder again as equals held much appeal, the notion of possibly losing him over and over certainly did not.

No. Much better to stay dead - in limbo, or with the saints, or even unconscious oblivion. Anything would be preferable to such torments.

"I want you more than anything," Fox confessed.

"More than going back?," Louis asked, knowing he shouldn't. What difference did it make what they wanted? What difference did it make what answer he received?

"What's said is said," Mulder sighed between long, slow, drugging kisses.

Louis' cock jerked with the strain of waiting. He made a supreme effort to remain calm, when all his body wanted to do was rage out of control.

Mulder whispered words of endearment into the shell of his lover's ear, murmured into his neck, placed kisses upon his clavicle. When Fox's first bite took hold, Louis snapped, fingers locking tight around Mulder's wrists, Fox finding himself pressed against the wall with a thud.

Louis' eyes glittered dangerously, and, for one insane instant, Fox forgot that his lover was merely human. He seemed to be so much more. The dark richness of desire built inside of him, urging him to submit.

"Mine," Louis murmured, but it sounded like "Time." Fox felt his heart speeding up, reminding him of the ritual, the rhythm of the movements and the heat of the dance. 

The great grandfather clock sounded from the dining room, resonating through the house. Ask not for whom the bell tolls.. 

Nine p.m. Could they last much longer? 

It would take fifteen or twenty minutes to reach Chartres Street on horseback. Leisurely foreplay was forgotten.

By nine twenty two, they had disentangled, helping each other dress. It wasn't strictly necessary, but it would probably be the last time they would have alone, the last chance to touch one another as lovers. Mulder found great significance in assisting Louis in becoming what he truly was: an eighteenth-century gentleman. This is who he was, and this is who he would stay for the rest of his life.

Louis, for his part, felt selfish, dressing Fox in his own clothes, imagining a future together in this time period. That future could never be.

The horses were agreeable, despite the late hour. The streets were beginning to fill with workers in search of relaxation, entertainment, or refreshment of various forms, but Louis was confident that they would not be approached. His status kept most people at a respectable distance, and the rumors of his madness - the greatest evidence of which was the freeing of his own slaves, en masse - would intimidate the rest.

Mulder's horse, Merlot, began to pull at the reins, shying away from something in the shadows. They were almost to the lights of the main avenues; Louis urged his ride to hurry, and Fox followed suit.

"Blank your mind," Louis reminded his companion. "Nearly there now."

By the time the two of them reached Mme. Etienne's, both horses were sweating. Dismounting in one fluid motion, Louis passed his reins to a young boy who emerged from the alley beside the house. Fox was less graceful, but managed to lower himself without injuring himself or Merlot.

Mme. Etienne was waiting, having dismissed her maid for the evening. The new arrivals found themselves pulled inside bodily, the woman's urgency manifesting itself in immense strength.

Only three attendants were present, and Mulder felt that the mambo must be sure of her skill to have such a small gathering. Her work would need to protect Louis for the long term, as well as send him back to the present day. He wondered if there would be a way to sacrifice himself for Louis, in the event that the magic was insufficient to achieve both ends.

"Almost ten. We begin."

The other three looked upon their charges with suspicion. They were young, seeming to descend in age from about twenty to no more than sixteen.

Mme. Etienne was either a skilled psychological manipulator, or a very powerful vodouist. This time, to Mulder's mild surprise, there were drums; once the rhythm began, the voices joined in, and he and Louis found themselves in the eye of a forceful storm. 

Fox wanted to hold Louis' hand, but for many reasons, he did not dare. One attendant brought in a rolling double-sided mirror suspended in a gilded frame, placing it between the two friends. Mulder could see himself, his pitiful, pitiable self, and Louis was now hidden from view. Louis, for his part, was able to see himself, so tired, so tense, so vulnerably human. 

The drums and the singing were almost deafening, and Fox idly wondered whether the neighbors would dare to complain; it was, after all, a respectable part of the city. Then again, who would dare risk the wrath of such magic?

The room seemed to waver and warp, Fox's reflection distorting like a funhouse mirror. He found himself wishing he'd asked more questions about what to expect during the ritual - but Fox and Louis had been rather busy, living and loving..

Somewhere between the states of being, like a waking dream, Louis saw himself flicker in and out, aging at warp speed, his hair becoming gray and now worn in a shorter style, his attire upgrading to early nineteenth century fashion. His eyes, however, remained steady, imminently recognizable, even with the lines of old age parenthesizing them. Louis mourned the loss of his beauty and youth, even as he relaxed into acceptance of his own mortality.

Mulder's mirror flashed with streaks of lightning, then washed red. A shadowy figure, like a dense mist, moved in the background, and Fox shuddered, remembering all the junkies he'd interviewed about seeing "shadow people." Part of him had wondered if narcotics opened people's perceptions, allowing them to see what most people were unable to see, rather than dismissing such apparitions as drug-fueled flights of fancy. This.. thing was menacing, and it was moving almost too quickly for him to see it. 

A crash was heard in Fox's mind, translating into the reality of the present moment. His mirror was split in two, one half of his reflection resembling his true self, while the other half looked like - 

"Mulder!"

Dana's voice startled those in attendance, a shriek going up at the intruder. There wasn't time to react, as Louis' own mirror shattered into fragments, forcing him to take a step backward. 

Another scream - but this one a cry of terror rather than surprise. Fox saw Louis pinned to the ground, clawing desperately at his attacker. The flash of flaxen hair, the deep blue waistcoat, the ribbon dark as night reining in the queue; it could only be - 

"Lestat!"

Fox was trying, vainly, to distract the vampire from his task. Mme. Etienne gave up on quelling the mounting hysteria of her attendants, wading into the fray with her strongest, fiercest chants.

Dana continued to call out to Mulder, sounding as if she was getting closer and closer. That was not in her best interests, especially with Lestat on the scene.

Mme. Etienne made valiant efforts to impede Lestat, pouring hot wax upon him, throwing handfuls of herbs onto his form, even slashing at him with a sizable shard of the mirror. His animalistic growls did not seem to deter the woman, and Fox admired that courage, even as he searched for a suitably pointy piece of wood, hoping some legends had a grain of truth to them...

The spindles of the staircase. One would have to do.

Mulder wrenched the piece free, hoping it was sharp enough. Lestat was still hunched over Louis, drawing as though he had no intention of stopping in time to turn the victim into one of his own kind.

Fox had never been so angry, and yet, unnervingly calm at the same time.

He could still hear Dana calling out to him, wondering if it was a trickster spirit, or if he had finally gone mad. Didn't all the time travel stories have the hero making some catastrophic error and altering lives forever? What had he been thinking of?

The stake found its mark, ruining Lestat's waistcoat. He drew back, face smeared with blood, fangs still on show.

"You.. idiot. You.. stupid.. time-meddling.. lover-stealing.. idiot."

Lestat tore at his own wrist, offering it to Louis, who turned away in disgust.

Mulder crouched down, keeping on eye on Lestat all the while. "Louis, it's up to you. Whatever you decide, I won't judge you."

Louis' breaths were labored, and his eyes betrayed his fear. Death was nothing when you knew it would be reversed in the morning, but when it was permanent, it was everything.

"Fox..."

"I'm here. I'm here."

Mme. Etienne was swaying, chanting over Lestat as he reclined like a drunken man at a bacchanalia, waiting for more grapes.

"Oh, do shut up," he managed, though his, like Louis' speech, was stilted. 

"I'm sorry, Fox."

Mulder placed a kiss upon his lover's forehead, accepting Louis' decision. "Don't be sorry.."

He did not want to walk the earth for centuries, cutting a swath of death and destruction. He did not want the loneliness, the darkness, the despair...

Louis leaned forward, lurching towards Lestat, feebly grasping his wrist.

Lestat's face was triumphant. "I knew you'd come back to me. You always were a fool for love - and don't deny it."

Louis drank, and Mulder wanted to scream - in dismay or selfish joy, he wasn't sure.

This meant that they might see one another again. It also meant the death of almost everything that Louis loved.

"Almost everything," he seemed to telegraph to Fox without words. "Almost."

Louis drew more deeply this time, as much as he was able. He hoped it would not sap him of his conscience, his sensitivity, his vamp-humanity - but, if he had to turn, he wanted to be strong. Armand had once admonished him that a vampire must be powerful, beautiful, and without regret; Louis was aiming for two out of three.

Time would tell if he'd gotten more than he'd bargained for.

Lestat seemed to grow stronger, although it may have been an illusion, the 'last rally' of strength before expiring.

Louis barely cared. With or without his maker, this was his life now.

Dana's voice continued to call out, and Lestat covered his ears in frustration. "Do you mean to tell me that even enlightened women of future generations don't know how to SHUT UP?!?"

Mulder felt himself waning, becoming almost transparent. Even Lestat seemed slightly curious, almost concerned.

Louis looked at Fox one last time. His eyes seemed to transmit the message, "If it is possible, I will come to you someday."

Dana's face appeared in the split mirror, and Fox moved toward it, reaching out. Her hand felt warm, just as Louis' would now be turning cold.

Mme. Lafont's parting words from the ceremony came through, like a scratchy answering machine message played several days too late. 

He resolved never to reveal them to anyone, except, perhaps, to Louis, if - when - they met again.

Mulder drifted through time, his stomach roiling, his head throbbing. Soon he felt the floor beneath him, could smell the flowers filling his tomb of the living dead.

Lafont's corpse lay nearby, already cool to the touch. He went to her apologized for disturbing her, thanked her for all of her help, and began to get his bearings.

In a distant, echoing tone, he could hear Scully calling for him - but she was not in the room. A creeping dread overtook him, a gut instinct telling him she was not in the house.

Searching for the nearest mirror, he found a small one facing where he had been on the floor. As he peered into it, he could see Lafont, standing side by side with her ancestor, Mme. Etienne. Seated on a chair in that room, head in her gloved hands, was a weeping Dana Scully.

Fox knew Lafont had only agreed to help him because she had been dying, and the outcome of his journey would not matter to her. Now, it seemed, an energy transfer had taken place, moving characters through different realities, until up was sideways, black was blue, and right was horribly questionable. 

He had tried to save Louis from his fate, and had failed. 

In the process, he had pulled Dana and a dying woman into his mad scheme.

There had to be a way to go back, just one more time.

Dana was not Louis, but Fox cared for her.

The herbs and accoutrements were in the house, waiting to be used; he only hoped they would accept him as practitioner.

The walls whispered to him as he began to gather his materials:

"Fool for love..."


End file.
